


You Come Crashing In, Like the Realest Thing

by tinydancer



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, a bit of angst and a bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydancer/pseuds/tinydancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It gets to the point where Ian finds himself googling the term 'soul mate'. He drunkenly spells it as 'sole mate', and his fingers stumble over the keyboard but google ends up correcting it for him anyway, thank god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Come Crashing In, Like the Realest Thing

When Mickey laughs, he doesn’t throw his head back or smile too big. It’s always a huff, or a chuckle with his eyebrows raised. Sometimes he looks at Ian sideways, tries to hide his smile. But Ian still sees it, and when he does, Ian doesn’t even try to hide _his_ smile.

When Mickey does his half-snort, half-chuckle thing, Ian wants to clutch at Mickey’s tank and pull him forwards, until their lips are meshed together in a mess of slicked lips and teeth. He wants to scratch at Mickey’s skin, he wants to claw his way inside, he wants to lick and bite and breathe Mickey’s sweat-sticked skin until all Mickey can feel and see and breathe is Ian, and only then will it be enough.

Ian knows it’s unhealthy, feeling all those things and then bottling them up. Hell, he knows it’s unhealthy to be feeling like that at all, sometimes he wonders whether it’s even remotely normal to think like that. But then he figures he must not be the only one, since there’s like, poetry and shit about these things. 

It gets to the point where Ian finds himself googling the term _soul mate._ He drunkenly spells it as _sole mate_ and his fingers stumble over the keyboard, but google ends up correcting it for him anyway, thank god. 

He gets a lot of shit about _other half_ and Plato, but Ian’s eyes start to burn from the bright white of the screen and he can’t bring himself to read all those long-ass paragraphs. So he snorts and shuts the ancient laptop before collapsing into a fitful sleep.

He can’t remember his dream the next day, but knowing his pathetic brain, it was probably something to do with Mickey and the ache, and yearning and stupid shit like _other half_. 

*

Eventually, Ian decides that enough is enough and he’s going to stop obsessing over whether Mickey Milkovich is his soul mate or whatever the fuck, and just start enjoying his time with Mickey instead.

Mickey invites Ian over to his house. Ian calls it a sleepover and Mickey calls it a “fuck you”. Ian laughs because it _is_ a fucking sleepover.

* 

When Mickey sleeps, he doesn’t do it half-way like Ian expects him to. Ian doesn’t know what sleeping half-way would even look like, maybe it’s like the type of sleep when you’re not really sleeping, when you’re still aware of everything around you. _Sleeping with one eye open_ , yeah, Ian’s heard the expression before and he figures that if you live with a bunch of Milkoviches, it should probably be a prerequisite. Your guard is still up and sleeping is only a state of semi-consciousness without any dreaming involved.  

Whatever a half-sleep is, Ian had figured Mickey would be the type to do it because Mickey half-does a lot of things. He half-laughs, he half-smirks, he finished only half of his beer, and he half-loves Ian. Or maybe he full-loves Ian, but Ian doesn’t like presuming things.

Ian has only seen Mickey sleep once before, which was followed by a tire iron on Mickey’s back, waking him up anyway. For the life of him, Ian can’t remember how Mickey looked like that first time since he was too busy trying to steady his heartbeat and putting on a stupidly brave face to really give enough shits to notice whether Mickey Milkovich was a half-sleeper. But now, Ian figures that Mickey was lying on his stomach all spread-out and his head was buried in the pillow, so he must’ve been pretty relaxed, right?

Well, there’s no doubting that Mickey looks relaxed right now, sleeping next to Ian with both of them all cramped up together in the single bed. Mickey, with his mouth slightly open and his eyelids quivering, he’s even snoring softly, which just makes Ian smile. Because _of course_ Mickey fucking snores.

But shit, it’s not like Ian’s been sitting for hours watching him sleep or anything, because that would be creepy and no doubt Mickey would call it _really fucking gay_. It’s just that Ian woke up exactly five minutes before his phone alarm went off, so that meant five minutes of just lazing in bed before he got up. 

Ian actually had no trouble sleeping and he’s grateful since he really hasn’t been getting enough of it lately. It’s most likely that he was just tired from all the fucking they’d been doing (and that’s _a lot_ of slow, languid fucking because for the first time ever, there was no rush). But Ian likes to think he slept easily because Mickey’s here with him too. That maybe having Mickey next to him eased the ache he’s been feeling lately, all over his body, through his chest and somewhere in his heart. Maybe he just needed one night to sleep next to Mickey Milkovich and he finally got it.

* 

The next few weeks, Ian sees his emotions in colours and it’s really fucking stupid but it’s true. When Terry caught them, Ian saw pure _black_ and every part of him shook with fear at getting caught because shit, fucking, _shit_ it’s Terry Milkovich and there’s no telling what he’s gonna do.

Then the Russian came in and undressed herself. Ian remembers her movements being so mechanical. When she sat down and raped Mickey, those movements were mechanical too. Ian thinks her eyes probably looked dead to the world and oblivious to what was breaking right in front of her. But Ian can’t know for sure because he was too busy looking down and drowning in _black_. And Mickey’s deep-red blood that could easily be mistaken for black.

*

Ian sees grey when Mandy mentions the wedding. He stands in the emptying hallway and vaguely wonders if his knees are going to give out from the weight of everything he’s been feeling lately.

So, Mickey’s marrying some girl he fucks to pretend Ian doesn’t matter to him. Ian tells him as much, and the grey fades to red when Mickey starts to walk away because fucking hell, Mickey _has_ to understand. The red oozes out of Ian with each blow, until he’s lying on the ground and Mickey’s walking away. Ian doesn’t get up for another twenty minutes. 

* 

When Mickey says, “ _don’t_ ”, Ian stops, turns around and then waits. But Mickey doesn’t say much more, so Ian turns to leave again.

This time he’s seeing camouflage green, and he holds onto it like a lifeline.

*

Ian’s always been pretty good at following orders. In fact, disciplined and orderly routines are a fucking relief after living the chaotic life of a Southsider. Discipline and order is what actually attracted him to ROTC in the first place and Ian knows that without it, his life would have been even more messed up than it already was, and that’s saying something because his life is utterly fucked.

Or it _was_ utterly fucked. Because now, he’s Lip Gallagher and he’s putting all those years of preparation to use.

There’s not a lot of time to think, but when he does, Ian tries not to think about the ache. The one all over his body, through his chest and into his heart. He thinks about how it went away after only one night with Mickey Milkovich and he wonders if it’ll _ever_ go away now that Ian’s never going to see him again. 

He’s about two weeks from graduating Basic Training when there’s a problem with Lip Gallagher’s paperwork.

* 

Ian calls Fiona and he thinks that she may or may not be crying quietly on the other line. When he hears Lip’s voice, it’s like someone has reached inside him and pulled at his gut, because Lip’s trying to be cool about it but Ian can tell he’s both pissed and hopeful. Ian asks to talk to Liam and takes comfort in the kid’s laugh when he recognises Ian’s voice. 

Fuck, he’s coming home.

*

Mickey has dark circles under his eyes and Ian’s selfish enough to hope that they’re there because of him.

They don’t talk, because Ian knows there’s nothing left to say.

Actually, that’s not true. There’s everything left to be said but maybe neither of them know how to say it.

* 

It’s been almost two months since he’s been back when Ian sees Mickey’s Russian wife at a bus stop. It’s obvious that she recognises him, and Ian wonders if she remembers him from the wedding or from another day, one streaked in black and red.

She pauses in front of him and gives him timid smile. Her accent is heavy when she speaks. 

“You are Ian,” she states. Ian takes a while to answer, but when he does, he has to remind himself that none of this is her fault, so he nods once.

“You’re not pregnant.” He looks down at her flat stomach pointedly and Svetlana wrinkles her nose. 

“Not true. People say I have baby, it’s not true.” 

Ian doesn’t know what to feel, say or do then. He only knows that the hands in his pockets itch to take hold of her shoulders, shake her, and tell her how everything is so fucked up. _“Your husband doesn’t love you!”_ he wants to yell. _“He loves_ me _, but not enough to tell me not to leave. Not enough to chase after me like some bitch.”_

Ian doesn’t say any of that; his hands twitch in his pockets. Eventually she speaks again. 

“Mickey is… he is lonely,” she sounds thoughtful when she says it, and is completely oblivious to what it does to Ian. How he takes a slight step back, how it feels like his whole body was made of glass the entire time. “He want you,” she shrugs and then smiles at him like the words are meant to be comforting.

Ian stares right ahead of him for a long time after that, and he doesn’t catch the bus when it finally comes. Instead he walks. Walks and walks, until his legs burn, and his body aches from thirst and hunger and from lack of Mickey Milkovich. 

*

Ian pussies out and texts Mickey instead of calling him, or meeting him face to face.

He texts, _I’m sorry for leaving_

Because he is. He really is. 

It takes Mickey almost ten minutes to reply, and it says, _Sorry_ _for everythin._

It’s so vague and Mickey-like, that Ian wants to laugh. But he gets another text shortly after the first one.

 _Miss you_.

* 

Against all odds, against the world and Terry fucking Milkovich, against _everything_ , somehow they make it work. And Mickey kisses Ian like he wants to crawl inside of him and never let go.

* 

Ian tells Fiona about them two days before Mickey’s divorce papers are signed. After the shock wears off, Fiona slaps him lightly over the head, calls him an idiot and then hugs him so tight Ian wonders whether his bones are going to break.

Fiona asks him where he and Mickey are going to go and Ian answers that they’ll figure it out, but he’ll call every single day and if he can’t, then every two days. Fiona laughs and says that’s bullshit but he better call anyway.

*

Ian finds out a lot about Mickey, things he would have never have guessed. He finds out that Mickey actually likes reading the comic section on the back of newspapers, and hates eating cereal for breakfast but for some reason he’ll eat it when he’s hungry during the day. Ian finds out that Mickey is actually more of cat person, because “Fuck you, cats are cool, man. They don’t give a fuck and they’re all sneaky and shit.” Ian has since given up on trying to convince Mickey otherwise.

*

Ian comes home drunk. They’ve had yet another stupid argument, one that’s about something so insignificant that Ian can hardly remember what it was about. Was it about doing the dishes? No, it was probably something stupider like how Mickey always hogs the remote and never lets Ian do _anything_. 

 _Fucking Mickey Milkovich_ , Ian thinks and then takes five whole minutes to fit the key into the lock.

Mickey’s not asleep like Ian expects him to be. Usually after their little spats, Mickey either gets drunk too and passes out, or just passes out in general.

No, Mickey’s wide-awake and he’s watching TV with the volume on mute. His legs are propped up on the couch and Ian watches him for a long time, before sighing and plopping down right next to Mickey, shoving his legs out of the way and then bringing them back so they’re now on Ian’s lap.

Mickey doesn’t say anything, he just raises his eyebrows when Ian starts rubbing his foot and it’s likely he understands it’s a peace offering. 

But Ian’s actually always been kind of crap at the massaging thing, so he gives up after about ten seconds and sighs. He finally decides to say out loud what he’s been thinking about all night, well, the latter half of the night.

“Y’know, Mick…I don’t care how much we argue because I will never, ever like _ever_ leave you. I don’t think I even _can_.”

Ian feels Mickey tense up completely, and Ian remembers that him leaving is a stupidly sensitive topic with them and he wants to kick himself for even bringing it up. But he started already, so he might as well finish. 

“Mickey, you’re like my – no, no, you _are_ my soul mate. You get it? Like I’ll never leave you because I can’t because you’re my other half and we’ll just end up together again anyway.” 

Mickey suddenly bursts out laughing, and it’s not a chuckle or huff. It’s a full-on laugh and Ian scowls. “Fuck, Gallagher, how much have you had to drink?” 

“Not enough if you’re just going to laugh at my confession and not take me seriously.” Ian says, and he moves to get up but Mickey stops him, still laughing slightly.

“Okay, okay. What’d you mean soul mate?”

Ian scowls at him some more, because shit, is Mickey going to make him say it again? “What I just said. That you’re my other half, and I’ll never leave you and that I fucking love you, all that shit.”

Mickey stares at Ian for a moment, before shaking his head. “C’mere,” he mumbles and then tugs at Ian until they’re close enough to kiss.

The kiss goes on for a pretty long time, but it’s not hurried like they’re going to fuck or anything. He knows that their make-up sex ranks pretty damn high with their best kind of sex, but Ian thinks this is all right too.

They break apart. Ian leans his forehead against Mickey’s and revels on the familiar feeling.

“Y’know, I googled soul mates once,” Ian whispers, and Mickey snorts.

“I’m not even surprised. When?” 

Ian pulls back a little before answering. “A few weeks after you got out of juvie… the second time.” 

At this, Mickey’s eyebrows come together like he’s confused. “That long ago? Really?” 

Ian shrugs and feels like he’s given yet another piece of himself to Mickey Milkovich.  “I was seventeen,” Ian says like it explains everything. 

But not really. Because you can be seventeen and still know all about love and heartbreak, and the ache in your chest that won’t go away until you sleep next to your _other half._ You can be seventeen and see the world in colours because otherwise it’s just too fucked up. You can be seventeen and get kicked out of the army, and realise your mistakes and then fix the ones that are worth fixing. Because otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in an old apartment on a second-hand couch with the love of your stupid fucking life sitting on the couch with you. 

Ian yawns suddenly and Mickey pushes him slightly. “C’mon.”

Mickey stretches and then turns the TV off. Ian watches him tiredly. Everything is suddenly swallowed by darkness and Mickey takes Ian’s wrist, guiding him to their little bedroom. Ian smiles and wonders if it all symbolises something, and then snorts at himself because he’s so fucking _gay_ and _in love_. It’s disgusting.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> help, I fell into ian x mickey and I can't get up
> 
> Title from "Half of my Heart" by John Mayer


End file.
